We were so busy gawking at Real Housewife Danielle Staub eating dinner with skater Johnny Weir in Chelsea last night that we missed the Costume Institute Gala Benefit. Luckily fictional freelancer Betsey Morgenstern was there in our stead.

It's a Costume Party
by Betsey Morgenstern

It is the fashion world's biggest night. The one night a year that celebrities, fashion designers, models, and other luminaries come out to kiss Vogue editrix Anna Wintour squarely on the ass so that she will not ruin their careers or tazer them with her telepathic powers. That's right, it's the Costume Institute Gala Benefit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This year, it was also the opening of the "American Woman: Fashioning a National Identity" exhibit at the museum, which is full of tons of old clothes throughout time that were all donated by Larry King's ex-wives. Well, except the first one. That Lucy chick is already in Museum of Natural History, so she didn't want to compete with her cross-town rival.

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I was lucky enough (and by lucky, I mean the publicist got lucky and I got in) to cover the red carpet this year. However when I was going through security, they were checking everyone's purses, even the really little ones that everyone carries to fancy events. Mine was full of the usual: money, ID, credit card, lipstick, compact, condoms, and a bag of magic mushrooms that I picked up from my friend Shlomi on the way to the party. Well, it didn't seem like they were going to let my mushrooms into the event so I did what any enterprising young lady would do. I ate them. Yes, the whole bag. Right now I'm still seeing rainbows, but last night, I was only seeing stars.

When I first got on the carpet, the active ingredients in my psychotropic treats hadn't started working in full force yet, but I was already loose. The first star I saw was Sarah Jessica Parker, and I was feeling gutsy.

"Hey Sarah, you here for the mane event?" I joked. All the photographers around me laughed so I went for another one. "SJP! Where's your buggy?" Another laugh. "Hey! Get it? Hay?...Hey, SJP, guess how I know what you're wearing? A little bridle told me." No one really got that one, but I got some sympathy titters.

"Oh, a horse joke. How original," Sarah said. "I've never heard those before."

"Wow, it talks!" I said. "Who are you? Mrs. Ed?"

That got a real riotous response.

"Get the fuck out of my face. Just back the fuck off or I'm going to hurt you."

"God, celebrities," I set up the first part of my joke. "No matter what you say, you just can't whinny."

That's when I saw privileged rapper M.I.A. wearing what looked to be a gold spider web. I was still mad at her for making this video where she kills off all the ginger kids. Most of my best friends have red hair and I was really offended.

The almost-nine-minute mini-movie for M.I.A.'s single "Born Free" came out today and …
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"What do you have against gingers?" I asked billion-heir marrying M.I.A.?

"Nuffin'," she said.

"Then why did you kill them all."

"It's a statement against genocide, you stupid slag."

"How can it be against genocide when you killed all the carrot tops? Don't they need love too?"

"Girl, if you don't get it then you can fuck off."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, girl. God, you are so dense, you don't even deserve one finger, you don' deserve two fingers, you deserve three fingers. It's like some kind of Super Finger. Oh god, I'm funny. I just made that up. Imma go write a song about the supa finga. Peace, biatch."

At this point, I was starting to get some tingles and sillies from the mushrooms and I couldn't be held responsible for my actions anymore. Then I saw my good friend Serena van der Woodsen, wearing one of her signature slutty dresses.

"Hey Serena, how's it going?" I asked.

"I'm fine, but I'm not Serena," she said.

"Oh, you're so funny. I'll play along. How are you doing 'not-Serena?' Stop pretending like you don't know me."

"I'm really not Serena. She's just a character I play on TV. And I certainly don't know you."

"How can you say that? Surely you remember the time I came to visit you at boarding school and you won that trophy in an absinthe drinking contest and I wouldn't have sex with that guy Jared and we laughed and laughed at him."

"Jared?"

"Yeah, Acne Jared. Don't you remember?"

"Girl you are crazy. Are you on something?"

"Uh. Maybe..."

Oh Christ, there is Jimmy Fallon. He always used to bother me when I was the backrub girl at Scores, a job I took from this skank Debbie Trachtenberg who they fired. Every time he was there when I was working he'd try to put his hands up my dress while I rubbed his back. I was trying to walk away when I heard him yell to the paparazzi, "Alright guys, I'm gonna turn around and whoever I'm pointing at is the girl I'm gonna have sex with tonight."

And he whipped around and pointed and it landed directly on me, like a really bad spin in Twister. "Existentialism!" he yelled. See, that was what I told him my stripper name was so that he would leave me alone.

"Hi, Big J," I said. That's what he liked to be called at Scores. It's obvious why he wanted to be called that, and obvious why it's a lie.

"I haven't seen you around the club. What are you doing with yourself?"

"I'm a reporter now."

"Oh, are you reporting on this?"

"No, Jimmy, I'm here to give backrubs."

"Oh, good, cause I got this knot..."

"That was just a joke. I'm here working. Can you please..."

"You know I got my own show now, right? You can interview me."

"I don't really want to, sorry Jimmy."

"What if I slipped you a $50 bill?"

"Sorry, the red carpet isn't like the VIP room at Scores"

"You're right, Existentialism, because if it was right now I'd have my..."

"OK, Big J. Move along."

Oh my god, it's Oprah Winfrey and she brought her girlfriend Gayle King as her date. God, I hate lesbians. "Wow, Oprah, I can't believe you're the May 5th celebrity."

"Excuse me?"

"When we found out someone famous was going to come out on May 5th, I didn't think you would do it by bringing nasty Gayle to an event in public."

"I'm not Gayle," Gayle King said, standing next to Oprah.

"You're butch, a shade or three darker than white, and standing next to Oprah. Of course you're Gayle."

Oh my god, when I was a little girl, the thing that scared me the most was the reruns of The Bride of Frankenstein on cable. I wasn't really scared of being attacked by a monster, but of actually becoming one. Tonight I met her in person.

"I like your new haircut," I said to her, trying to assuage the beast.

"Thanks, it's the same old haircut, I just have it done differently."

"What are you talking about? You died it red and took out the wobbly white stripe."

"I may have a couple of gray hairs, but I certainly don't have a white stripe. You must have me confused with someone else."

"That's how you lure them in!" I screamed. "That's how you get them. You seduce them and then you eat their brains. Stay away! Stay away."

I took off and ran closer to the entrance, fighting my way through the crowd to get away from the monster.

I ran right up to the stairs of the Met where the most spectacular thing happened. Jessica Alba was standing there, being helped by an assistant.

"It's OK, people, move along," she said loudly to the crowd. "Ms. Alba has just forgotten how to talk again. She will surely remember in a moment, she always does. Just keep it moving. Staring only embarrasses her and makes it worse."

I did as I told and I took a few steps away where I saw that lucky bitch Naomi Campbell and her hot billionaire boyfriend Brothers Karamozov. I was going to go up and hit on him, but I heard him whispering something to Naomi.

"Do not looks now, Naomi," he was saying. "I am goink to tell you somethink, but you have to promisink to just stay calm. Do not turn around. Do not do anythink."

"Wha? Wha ees 'appening?" she said.

"OK, stay calm. Somehow the maid followed us here and is standink behind us."

"That stupid bitch! I told her she canna come. She's lucky she wore sunglasses, because I'm going to blacken that otha eye. This is my fucking night. It is always..."

"Calmink, babuska. Start with the calmink."

Mad Men next season?"

"Greetings!" it said. "I am the January Bot 1000. I am at a party. I will answer your queeries."

"I asked about your role on Mad Men."

"It is an honor to be nominated."

"Um, OK. Who are you wearing."

"I am working on various projects. They are in development."

"Are you excited to be here tonight?"

"It is an honor to be nominated."

"You said that already."

"I wish the rest of the cast the best of luck."

"Oh, Christ. Do you have an off switch."

Damn it, I knew this would happen. There is my ex-boyfriend Tom Brady.

"Oh, hi Tom."

"Bets! Uh, I didn't expect to see you here. How's it going."

"It's going great. I'm here working."

"That's cool. Did you get my email?"

"The one about how you're so over me and how you finally stopped listening to that romantic playlist I made you when we first started dating?"

"Yeah, that one."

"I got it. Thanks Tom."

"I'm really over you, I swear."

"I know, Tom, that's what you keep telling me."

"Want to know how over you I am?"

"Tom, I know you're over me, you don't have to prove it to me."

"No, I do. I'm going to prove it right now by having sex with a supermodel right in front of you."

"Tom, you don't need to..."

"Gisele. Come here," he said grabbing the woman next to him away from talking to another reporter. "We're going to fuck."

"Where?"

"Right here!"

"OK! Just don't mess up my hair. OK, Tommy. Is that little girl going to watch?"

"No," I said, shaking my hands and walking away.

She shook her head and said, "Shame..."

That's when I saw the high priest for the evening. He was escorting in the ritual sacrifice that Ms. Anna would feed on at the stroke of midnight. I did not interrupt him by speaking. It is a very honored tradition, and I try to stay out of all that occult stuff every since I got kicked out of Scientology for telling Tom Cruise he's gay.

Oh my god, here comes Gayle King, and she's changed her dress. She looks a lot girl-ier now. Maybe Oprah was right and she didn't want to come out just yet.

"Hi, got anything to eat?" Gayle asked.

"Sorry," I replied.

"A piece of gum? A mint? Anything? I'm fucking starving!"

"Well, I had some mushrooms, but they're all gone."

"Mushrooms? You didn't save any?"

"Sorry, I was afraid they'd take them at the gate."

"Damn, girl. I could really use some mushrooms right now!"

Oh Jesus. Here comes Renee Zelleweger and her puffy face. Why was she walking so funny.

"Renee, what are you doing?" I asked.

"My dress is shiny and it gets in my eyes."

"Oh, that must be really annoying. Who are you wearing?"

"I'm only wearing myself silly. I don't like the shiny."

"I mean, who made your dress."

"A little fairy named Rachel brought it. She had long curly hair, big big black eyes, and a little gay helper elf named Brad. They dropped it off and told me to wear it. But it's so shiny. Shiny hurts my eyes. That's why I squint. To stop the shiny."

I was about to walk over to Sienna Miller and Jude Law when I caught Sienna looking right at me.

"What about that one?" she asked with her hand on her hip and jutting her head out to indicate me.

"Naw, a little too young and pale," Jude said back to her.

"God, J. At this rate, we're never going to find anyone to have a threeway with. What kind of girl are you looking for?"

Tina Fey is such an iconoclast. Not only is she funny and wearing glasses, but she even showed up to the even wearing pants.

"Great jumpsuit," I congratulated her.

"Thanks. My daughter puked on my real dress, so this is my backup."

"It looks great, and it has pockets."

"I know, I stashed a half-eaten Whatchamacallit in my pocket for later."

"Oh shit, don't tell that to Gayle King."

"Who do you think ate the first half?"

Oh my god, first I ran into Serena van der Woodsen and now there is Acne Jared. I met him when I went to go visit Serena at boarding school and we stayed up all night drinking absinthe. He bought us the bottle because he thought if he got us drunk enough we'd have sex with him. Well, there were three Jareds at the school: Hot Jared, Hung Jared, and Acne Jared. You can only imagine which two Jareds we went home with that night. He really felt snubbed after he got us good and drunk.

Now, there he is posing with his new wife and he still seems insecure, like a pudgy teen with bad skin.

"Hey Bets, see what I get to sleep with tonight?" he said with a sly smile. "Bet you want it now? Bet you want it now, huh Bets?"

There is Larry Diller and Diane von Furstenstern. Do they go to every fancy event in New York? It's always funny to hear what they have to say.

"What did I tell you about touching in public, Barry," she said to him.

"You are supposed to be in full-beard mode right now and you are off flirting with Jude and Sienna."

"But darling, they were flirting with me. Stop holding my hand, I don't want them to think I'm taken."

"Really, Di. What are you going to do with them?"

"I'm going to finally have the three-way I always wanted, not one of the lousy ones I have with you when you invite over a rent boy and I clean the kitchen while you have sex with him in the bedroom."

"You have got to be joking. That never happens. You haven't cleaned a kitchen in decades."

That's when the mushrooms really started to hit and I started to see trails and the world started to bend just a little bit in the wrong direction. I even saw the mushroom that I had eaten.

"I'm sorry, little mushroom. I didn't mean to eat you."

"What?" the mushroom said.

"I didn't mean to eat you. Now you are making me feel funny, little mushroom."

"We are the three fates, and we are here to judge you," the cried in unison.

"I am Stella McCartney, peeking out from around the hedgerow," said the first one.

"I am Kate Hudson. I will try to distract you from my boob job with my thigh," said the second one.

"I am Liv Tyler. I am hiding my career behind my left arm. I will never work again!" said the third one.

"I'm scared of you! I'm so scared of judgment," said the Betsey one. Wait, that's me. Man, these fucking 'shrooms are intense!

Then I turned around and there was a flash of light and suddenly a young woman appeared.

"I have come from the future!" she said.

"The where?" I asked.

"The future! I have come in my time machine from the future to tell you that you will be judged, Betsey Morgenstern."

"Wait! That's me! Why will I be judged?"

"I am the Katy Perry Ghost of Celebrity Weeklies Future and I am here to say that you are a horrible person. You make up mean and evil things about people and put yourself in bad situations! You will be judged."

"No, no beautiful Katy Perry Ghost! I'll change. I'll be better. I'll be so much better and only be nice to the celebrities and stop doing drugs and making up lies and running away from Tom Arnold who is really my one true love. I'll stop, Katy Perry. I'll stop!"

Just as my hallucination was starting to get very intense and I thought I was a glass of orange juice and I would never be normal again, I saw a bright, beautiful, and serene image. Was it a ghost? Was it an angel? It was more. It was Anna!

"Hush, Betsey. Hush. I am here for you," she said while walking—no, floating—toward me. She wasn't even taking steps just gliding like she was a spirit sailing along the mist over a lake in the balmy spring night.

"I am here for you, Betsey. Relent. Give into me. I am the only one who will save you and bring you to salvation."

"I won't be judged?" I asked as I extended my hand and she grasped it. Her hands were brittle but soft, like onion skin paper in a leather-bound first edition of a brilliant book of sonnets that has never been read.

"No, you will not," she said, as she moved behind me, nestling her head into my shoulder. "You will not be judged. You will not be judged," she whispered over and over and she brought her mouth closer to my neck. "You will not be judged. You will live forever" she said. Then I felt two sharp pricks on my neck and then the warm sting of her lips suctioning onto me. Then, I knew, for the very first time, I would be fine. I would find salvation.